


Playing God

by hair_dresses



Category: All fandoms, Unspecified Fandom
Genre: F/F, Gen, God - Freeform, Other, Sci-Fi, Science Fiction, in your head, oh boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-17 04:50:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9305042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hair_dresses/pseuds/hair_dresses
Summary: maybe we are more than just a brain. maybe who we are lies within every inch of our bodies.





	

Let’s start at the beginning, shall we? I lived in a lovely country town named Belita. Having a population of only one hundred thirty-eight people, you could imagine how quickly news traveled. When the plant blew a gasket, anyone who wasn’t even either there or within the 10 mile radius that was Belita knew about it before God Himself heard the rumble or saw the smoke. 

I’ve been a chemical engineer for eight years now. When my farmer parents found out that their farmer daughter wanted to go to college to deal with stuff that makes other stuff, they fought it. But after I moved into the dorms at the small college in the next town over, both my parents and the rest of the farm went up in flames. No one walked away. I guess that’s where my fear of burning to death started. But that was sixteen years ago and I’ve made a decent life for myself, small town be damned. It’s quiet here and my cat likes to chase birds. Once I graduated from said college, I got a really great offer from Mayner Chemical Plant right back at home. I found myself a quaint home close to work and made it my own. Sometimes I worry about growing old, but it’s inevitable so I don’t dwell.   
Anyway, the accident. There were fourteen of us in the lab that day, all of us women. We loved to pick on each other- Rhonda was the fiery red head, Barbra the slutty brunette, and I always ended up being the dumb blonde. I guess that day really proved them right, huh? It happened on Thursday, May 17. See, the plant also did their own research to find how to make products that performed better and lasted longer without raising costs. That was our job. On May 17, we were all heading out to lunch and, after cleaning my work station, I headed out the door. We were just going to the café across the street, but I guess I left my flame on. I could’ve sworn it was off though, but I guess not. A lazy mistake by a dumb blonde. I left a chemical too close to said flame (cellulose nitrates, in case you’re wondering) and as soon as we walked back in, the place blew. Out of the fourteen of us, four came out alive. 

I barely remember the actual explosion. Just hearing the sound and that’s it until I woke up three weeks later hooked up to a bunch of beeping machines with bright white lights over me. I was the only one to wake up. I spent forty-seven weeks in the hospital, my body was 93% burns. I didn’t have eyebrows for another three months after I woke up and I don’t think I’ll ever get my hair back, scar tissue and all that. I look back at the blonde waves that hung around my face, that I cursed daily for being too big or too flat, and long for the strands back to tickle my neck and mat up in the night. I notice how truly beautiful I was before my skin became one big pile of burned, bumpy flesh; before my hair burned from the ends up, like a fuse on a stick of dynamite; before I lost one of my hazel eyes to a piece of shrapnel.   
The other three woman who were dragged from the fire have since passed on, leaving me the only soul to have been there that day. Lucky me. After all my time in the hospital, they finally sent my home, ordering that I do physical therapy three times a week. The doctors were seeing very little improvement in my condition and thought that maybe being in my own home would help accelerate the process. One day, though, about six weeks into the therapy, I had a strange visitor show up at my door. He introduced himself as Mr. Jaynx. He claimed that he worked for an underground medical company that had noticed and taken interest in my case. He gave me a business card and said to call the number, that they would have more information for me than he could disclose at that time. 

About two days after Mr. Jaynx paid me that first visit and having that card burning a hole in my pocket, I finally gave the number a call. The woman on the phone did not give a name and explained to me that the company she worked for specialized in people like me- the ones who just didn’t seem to get better, who’s medications just made them feel worse, who had so much survivor’s guilt eating at them that they would never get better. When she told me exactly what the procedure was and that there was no government involvement, I could hardly believe my ears. Of course I wouldn’t be involved in such a sketchy practice. Who do they think I am? Who do they think they are?   
However, with my muscles getting weaker by the day and my meds making me sicker every hour, I figured risking my life for a better life. Because, honestly, it was a win-win situation- either I die, which at this point would be a welcome relief, or I have a whole new life to lead. My finances were getting slim so I figured I had to do something soon. Before I could overthink, I had the number dialed and the line was ringing as I waited for this sketchy practice to pick up. A woman answered and I set up my initial meeting with the doctor.

Two days after, I heard a knock on my door. When I swung it open, I was greeted with two men and a sleek, still-running, black car. They introduced themselves as working with Mr. Jaynx. One gave me a shot in my arm and soon, I was sleeping peacefully… I assume now that they didn’t want me to know where we were. The next thing I remember is being in an office with a nice looking woman who took my name and birthday, as well as the type of accident I had been in, and ten thousand dollars in cash. She showed me back to a waiting area and I was greeted with a doctor shortly thereafter. 

He was a scary looking man. Doctor Abanshi… He had these giant eyes that were so blue they were almost black. “Crazy eyes” as my mother would of called them in their wide, wonky state. This man started explaining to me the procedure and that it would be taking place that day. The thought made my entire body seize up, as though a boa constrictor had made its way around my lungs. He told me that he would detach my spinal cord from its column and transplant the entire mechanism to a new host before attaching the nerves of the body to the cord of my brain. The thought made my arms and legs quiver, my stomach roll, and my chest tighten. I had paid for this and it was my last shot. A scary looking nurse came in and put a scary looking mask over my nose and mouth. She told me in a scary sounding voice to count backward from a hundred. I made it to ninety-four.

 

   
When I woke up, everything was blurry- it’s maybe just an adjustment period. But it seems like I need glasses. My mother used to always tell me that needing glasses, and not having any, was like having a milk film over your eyes- that you could see, but nothing was clear and it was so, so frustrating. I always laughed and told her she was crazy, but I’m starting to understand what she meant. I find the silhouette of the doctor and blink once, twice, three times, and as a smile spreads across my lips, I hear an audible sigh of relief. Doctor Abanshi does some mobility tests with me, making sure I have full use of the fingers and toes. A nurse gently touches my shoulder and hands me a pair of glasses that bring everything into sharp focus and the frustration is gone. My head is pounding, but I’m told that is to be somewhat expected and that the pain will subside shortly. I guess that’s to be expected when you take the whole of who someone is and put that into a-whole-nother space. The more I focus on his tests, the more my head begins to hurt until he tells me to rest. I close my eyes in an attempt to relax and that’s when the first pain hits me.  
I knew this woman had died days earlier, I just didn’t know how. Have you ever been shot? Because, let me tell you, it really sucks. Like, a lot… Thankfully, the staff came quickly to administer pain killers that knocked out the searing pain in my back and put me under for a good few hours. When I wake again, I have to fumble to find my glasses- someone must’ve taken them off of me while I slept. As soon as they are on my face, I breathe a sigh of relief- it’s very disconcerting to not be able to see. That’s when I first notice them. The hands- my hands!- are darker. I raise them up to admire the beauty of my skin. From the milky white porcelain hands that were always dipped in red polish to a beautiful toffee that has fingernails of a goddess and, yet, are left unpainted.

A nurse is there with a mirror- she says it’s time for me to see myself. My new self. I stay awake for a while then, admiring my new face and my new hair and the most beautiful freckles you’ve ever seen. The eyes are a candy apple green with the faintest rim of blue around the edges and in the centers, around the pupils, and nestled between prominent cheeks bones and the eyebrows, oh my, the eyebrows. They are perfectly arched and somehow unkempt all at once. My teeth are straight and white and framed with lips that you could fall asleep on. My hair is long but stands away from my face in a halo of natural curl like you’ve never seen. I probably spend three hours just admiring my new skin in the mirror before finally falling back asleep.

 

   
It’s been about five days since the surgery. At least, that’s what I’m told. Between the lack of windows in the “hospital” (more like a warehouse or damp old basement), and my messed up sleep schedule, I’ve lost track of time. I’m being released today, even though there are some weird things happening in my head. But I figure it’ll all work out.. I mean, come on. I walked today for the first time in a year!! It’s amazing how free you feel when your legs actually work- when you can actually go where you want without someone pushing you in a chair or lifting you out of said chair to do some kind of rehabilitation exercise or take you to the restroom. There’s bound to be some residual energy from one soul to the next. Like moving into a house the day after the former owner has left, leaving a few boxes behind. The men that came to pick me up also came to take me home. They drop me off at my house and I find that my cat has been fed and watered, thanks to some kind townspeople. She nuzzles me and purrs louder than any sound I’ve ever heard her make. 

After a few weeks in my own home, you would think that I was feeling better. Somehow though, it’s as if my body is what is making me feel out of place, making my brain feel wrong. It’s that feeling of the first time you go to a friend’s house and their whole family seems to be in the same room as you even though you don’t know what to say to each other, or when you attend a party where you think you’ll know some people, but when you arrive, you don’t know a soul. And what’s more, it’s as if my body is starting to deny me.

I know! I know that sounds absolutely insane, but I’m telling you, it’s the truth. It started with little things, like my fingers not working right on the keyboard at my new job- hitting keys that I was definitely not hitting and not hitting keys that I was trying to. But as time went, the defiance got more severe. For example, a few days ago, I all but cut sliced my entire arm clean open because I couldn’t stop the muscles on my left from digging a butcher’s knife deep into the flesh of my right. Yesterday, my legs stopped moving in the middle of traffic, leaving me at the mercy of the drivers and cars hurdling towards me. My heart has been giving tight squeezes, as though trying to stop itself on purpose, and my stomach often decides to empty its contents, despite my healthy eating habits. 

To make matters more ludicrous, I started hearing a voice. Well… not just a voice. My voice. But only in my own head, spewing venom that I would never of said to myself before the accident, much less now. ‘Snake.’ ‘Body snatcher.’ ‘It’s your fault she had to die.’ ‘Demon.’ ‘Ungrateful, undeserving bitch.’ And what’s more, is that this body yearns for places I’ve never heard of, to be in the arms of people I’ve never met, to be at a job that I know I would hate. It’s as if the body desires the life from before. Before I was put here, before the accident, before everything.

And yes, I have called the number on the business card. Yes, I have desperately looked for another way of communication with Mr. Jaynx or Dr. Abanshi. Every time I call the number, I get that damned message that says that the number has been disconnected. And believe me, these guys are not on social media. I’ve looked… Plenty of times. 

Today has been the worst, though. I woke up in the wee hours of the morning completely unable to breathe. I was gasping and wheezing and finally got enough air in my lungs to feel like I wasn’t under water. I was too afraid to go back to sleep, for fear it may happen again. That was at 2:24 a.m. It is currently 11:57 p.m. and I have been up for 21 hours and 33 minutes and I’m so tired. But for every single one of those 21 hours and 33 minutes, I have been struggling, fighting, waging war to breathe. I’m scared to death to close my eyes- afraid that the body will finally win. I called in sick to work so that I could keep myself up and moving, keep myself fueled on coffee, housework, and exercise. But 21 hours and 33 minutes is a long time to be moving around and that’s how I found myself here, on my couch, watching some action movie that I’m barely paying attention to- more staring through than at. I know I can’t stay awake forever. Some part of me hopes, though, that I can just wait the body out. That it will give up on this whole silly ‘suffocate yourself’ thing and we can move on with our lives. My life, to be exact.

It is now 3:17 a.m. and I have been up for a full 25 hours. My eyes are burning almost as hot as my lungs. My back and joints are aching and I crave sleep so desperately that I feel as though lead weights are hanging from my eyelids. The strangest part is that I haven’t yawned once. I want to, oh god, I know it would feel so good, but the lungs will not cooperate. The longer I’m awake, the louder and meaner the voice in my head becomes. I’m fighting to keep my eyes open but I know I’m fighting a losing battle.

 

 

 

 

 

I feel like I’m floating. Much like when I was waking from surgery… only here, instead of bright lights and warm blankets, my surroundings are dark and cold. My chest burns, as though my lungs are full of fire, though I know that they are not. I try to focus the way humans do on my pulse, but find no steady drum within my core. Only fire. I feel like I’m floating, only instead of waking to a new life, I know that I will not wake up. Maybe we were wrong all along… Anyway, it’s too late for thoughts like this and I’m too tired to think. I’ve lost my battle. Perhaps we truly never were meant to play God.

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you think! i'd love feedback.


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